A Place to Heal

The beach. Some of my earliest memories are in the sand. The ocean breeze on my face. The taste of salt on my lips. I feel a yearning that roots itself deep inside my chest to be near the ocean.

The sun. Hot on my skin, sweat dripping slowly between my shoulder blades and pooling gently in the crevices of my collarbones. In French, they do not say to sunbathe or to lay in the sun. The phrase translates to "obtain the sun," - to get the sun. That is how I feel; the need to obtain the sun.

I like the weather hot. Hot enough to sweat without moving. I like how exhausted and weak a day at the beach can make me feel. I don't think there is a better shower in the world than the one after a day at the beach. A cool, clean, fresh feeling after obtaining the heat all day. I can't get enough of the whole experience. Before, during, and after.

The ocean. I have never been much for swimming in the ocean. I am a great swimmer, but the ocean has always scared me. Waves make me very nervous.

A year ago I visited Fort Lauderdale and swam in the ocean. Alone.

I was finally feeling like my heart was strengthening from the wounds of both my divorce and letting go of a love I was convinced was over. On that trip I received a clandestine message that a letter had been mailed to me. A letter of renewed love, a letter asking me desperately to come back, to believe, to wait, to love wholly again, to risk bigger than my heart ever had before.  A letter I so badly wanted and couldn't bring myself to believe would ever travel to me. But it did.

My heart was so frightened. And I walked into the ocean. 

It was warm and calm and felt like an ocean made only for me. I loved sinking into the water. The cooling effect. The salt that stung my eyes and jolted my tongue when I licked my lips. The water here seemed to make my heart lighter and softer, like the shore sand it smoothes.

And as I floated I made a decision to love despite all my fears. To pry my heart open wide enough for the most impossible love to crawl inside. In that moment I believed in destiny. I believed all the words and promises and hopes as the ocean held me afloat. The fear I felt behind my heart made my fear of the ocean seem so insignificant. The risk of breaking my own heart, again and bigger than ever, made the fear of this water seem like child's play.

The beach acts as a time warp for me. It's as if the clock's hands spin but I stand still. I swear each hour feels like minutes. I don't get bored or keep track of time.

The beach holds my body memories of a lifetime of love and heartbreak.

The sand. I love the grit of sand. The scratchy texture in between my toes and on my sweaty skin. In Malibu this January, I spent the day at the beach without beach towels or chairs. The sand wasn't too hot, and I laid in it for hours. It was glorious.

Sandy. Sweaty. Salty. The most perfect combination.

So I run to the beach because it is where I am honest with everything that swirls inside of my heart and head. My hands shake as I get close because I know the existential possibilities the beach holds for me. It is where I let my guard down with myself. It is where I sit quietly and patiently with myself. It is where I listen more carefully to what is true inside of me. It is where I judge myself a little less and am able to be a little gentler with myself. It is where I can allow myself to cry comfortably and smile without reason. It is where my soul feels full. It is where I am happy. It is where I exist in the full glory and horror of my own human condition.

And it is where I heal, and God knows we all need a place to heal.

Coming Home

She handed her the keys, took her face in both hands, and kissed her cheek.

"Welcome home," she said.

A truth was spoken.

---

Maryland is a great place to live. Though I have pretty much lived here all my life, my answer has always been the same when asked where I am from. "I'm from Maryland, but I probably won't live here forever."

All my life I have believed this and stated it with confidence. There is something romantic and beautiful about starting over, planting roots in a new place, building up a life that looks different from what you have known in the past.

This past year has brought increased opportunities (by design) for me to be away from Maryland. Just looking at the stats, I took to the air 28 times, rode 6 trains and 2 buses, took 4 road trips, visited 17 different cities, and traveled over 24,000 miles. Not bad for one year.

Something unexpected happened to me through the process of leaving so frequently, though. I began to love coming home. I developed routines and upon returning would sink into the arms of my home. Routines that became almost as rewarding as the travel itself.

With leaving comes the great joy of returning. 

Maybe it's because my home has changed over the last year. Maybe it's because my idea of home has shifted. Maybe I'm just getting older and I allow routines to be a larger part of my life than I have in the past.

Building roots and creating a home that holds my heart feels right in this season of my life. I still don't know if I'll be in Baltimore forever. My home will physically and metaphorically change, I'm sure, as the years pass, but I am learning that my roots are here in Baltimore. I'm learning that even in my most restless moments I need a landing pad where the soil is settled and roots are securely planted.

Sometimes we have to leave all we know in order to learn how to come home.

36 Hours (or how to have a one-night stand with a city)

"What is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen?" she asked.

"Let me tell you about the most beautiful experiences I have ever had," he offered.

She listened closely...

---

2015 was by far the hardest year I have experienced in my 29 years of life. No other year comes close to having as much heartbreak, confusion, missteps, or emotional breaking points as this past year. But no other year has allowed me so much room for transformation, either. 

True to a commitment I made at the end of 2014, this past year has been one of searching. In this year of searching, I traveled a lot. At least once a month I would jet off somewhere. Most of these trips averaged about 36 hours. Two(ish) days, one night, and a full experience. 

A city one-night stand, if you will. 

These one-night stands were perfect for me. Just enough time to discover the city I was in, meet a few new people, eat and drink, sleep, brunch (I always brunch when I am away), and travel home. These trips energized me. They provided me valuable insight into how far I could push myself, the risks I am willing to take, and the confidence I possess.

Oh, and I took almost all my 36 hours trips solo.

I fell in love with solo traveling in 2015. And though someday I hope to find a magical travel partner that I can travel easily with, last year's solo travel was the most compassionate thing I could have done for myself. When I travel alone I am forced to be present with myself each step of the way. I also have no excuses. The trip is mine. I discovered the importance of owning each trip, exploring and noticing with myself, and driving my own adventures.

So, what did I learn about travel and life and self through this year of adventures? 

1. There are interesting people everywhere. If you smile you will meet them. If you ask questions you will get to know them.

Though I didn't document every conversation or person I met on my trips last year, I met some truly fascinating people. When you travel alone, you need to smile. Learn the names of the people placed near you and talk to everyone.

I met people from all walks of life, all ages, all professions. Traveling solo would not have been as exciting if I didn't get a glimpse into the lives of so many new people. I realized that a smile is the best conversation starter.

I began to keep a series of questions I used to get to know people. Not the benign "what do you do?" or "where are you from," questions. Questions that I cared about. Questions that has answers that matter and dig deeply. Questions that beget stories. 

Craft your questions. Ask them frequently. Listen closely. Learn deeply.

2. Don't rent a car

Renting a car usually seems like such a convenient idea. Don't do it. There is no where I traveled that I needed a car. In addition to saving money by using Uber and public transportation to get around, not having a car forces you to be with the people. It forces you to really see a city at its gut- level. It forces you get to know that driver that gives you best recommendation for brunch or tells you about the secret bar hidden behind that inconspicuous green door (buzz twice, enter the shop next door, and wait for the door in the back to be unlocked).  

Walking a city also allows you to discover some of most beautiful details that might be missed when zipping around in a car. The city's trash cans, the benches, the side street with beautifully architectured homes- slow your pace or you'll miss so much beauty. 

Move wisely. Walk frequently. Notice closely. Learn deeply.

3. Stay near a campus

If I was in a city that had any universities or colleges, I would always choose to stay close to these places. I have found hotels and Airbnb's near campus tend to be a little bit less expensive than staying in the heart of the city. Plus, there are usually a ton of local spots to explore nearby.

Whatever you do, don't stay near the airport. These locations lack everything except for tired people and bad restaurants.

The other upside to staying near a campus? Colleges are beautiful and offer a ton to see, so you can easily jog or stroll around the area and see a ton of beautiful sites. And adding beauty to your travels is always the goal.

Stay wisely. Risk frequently. Explore closely. Learn deeply.

4. Pay attention to anything you find beautiful. Then, spent extra time in those spaces.

It is amazing how many pictures people snap while traveling, yet it's hard for them to articulate why they even bothered to save these moments. When I travel, I don't take a ton photos. It forces me to memorize the beautiful things I see. It forces me to write and record my own observations. It forces me to spend a little more time in the spaces I find beautiful.  

On almost every trip I have taken this past year I rearranged my scheduled plans to spend more time in the place I was currently standing. Whether it was an art gallery with a stunning exhibit that I decided to move through a second time, or a bookshop with that book I had been searching for all year long, or a coffee shop with the most curious people- there always seemed to be a good reason to stand a little longer with those moments of beauty.  

On four different occasions I actually delayed my flights home and stayed longer because the beauty was just too good to let go.

So often we truncate experiences to move on to the next thing. Take a picture. Check-in. Tweet it. Move on. And I get it- I am restless and like to keep moving. But when you feel beauty emerge in your body and you see something spectacular in front of you, stand still a little longer. Take notice of the experience you are having. Cement the sights and sounds and feelings until they become a body memory, not just a social media post. Give up many experiences for deeper experiences.

Go to where the beauty lives. Stand still frequently. Feel closely. Learn deeply.

I can honestly say that traveling was the easiest thing I did last year. Despite the struggle that was 2015, it was also a year of more beauty, experiences, and miles than ever before. The learning was deep, the beauty was overwhelming, and the growth was immense.

Here's to keeping it moving in 2016- one city at a time.

Now Resolutions

"What are our next steps?" he asked.

"There are no next steps," she answered. "Just now steps."

---

Oh, new year, here you come. Full of promise and resolutions and all sorts of lists. Almost guaranteed is that in the next week we will see a pouring out of articles and blogs that outline the age-old activity of creating New Year's Resolutions.  Oh, you hate resolutions? Don't worry, there be a ton of people posting about that, too. 

I have no strong opinion on resolutions. Make them, don't make them, whatever. I have had years when I made a bunch, or where I've tried to put a creative twist on this common practice. I have always felt good about doing this, and honestly, I never have any regrets if I don't follow through on everything I thought I wanted to achieve at the beginning of the year.

366 days (whatup, leap year!) is a long time to want the same thing and also a long time to accomplish something.

I decided recently it was about time to dig into what I wanted to dedicate more time and energy to. Not really goals, not truly resolutions, but more a few things I wanted to be deeply dedicated to tending to over the next year. Here's what I came up with:

Cooking

I don't really cook, and if you know me you can atest to the fact that I am a grazer. I am not home a lot in the evenings and I live alone so buying and cooking tons of food doesn't really make much sense during this season of my life. But I recently started dedicating Sunday nights to cooking- something, anything- as long as I use a pot or pan and turn on my oven or stove- it counts.

I am dedicated to cooking, for myself, one day a week. A time to feed my body and my soul. A time for nurturing. A time to slow down and be present with myself.

Exercise

I know, I know (yawn), everyone wants to start exercising (next year). And a ton of people do (have you ever been to a gym is January? I bet you have- that's when everyone goes to the gym!), which is awesome and great and a desperately needed goal for a lot of people. What I want, though, is slightly more specific because it requires a bit of a lifestyle change around reworking my mornings to add exercise and more thoughtfulness to my pace and routines. 

I am dedicated to rising earlier and starting my day with physical activity. A time to strengthen my body and my soul. A time for discipline. A time to slow down and be present with myself.

Spanish

Learning something new can be hard. It takes practice and time and dedication. I have some big travel plans I'm working on (more on that soon), but these plans will be almost entirely impossible if I can't speak Spanish. Luckily for me, Doulingo is free and I know a ton of people that speak Spanish, so I have a lot of support here. More than anything I am curious what will happen if I set aside 30 minutes every day to learn and practice Spanish. That would be 10,980 minutes of practice, and that seems like a good place to start.

I am dedicated to taking time each day to engage with this new language. A time to strengthen my speaking skills and my understanding. A time for pushing myself. A time to slow down and be present with myself.

Great, glad I figured all this out.

But here's the thing: I am not going to start doing any of these things in January. I am way too restless to stand around and wait for December to decide to be over.

The reality is that if we want something, we shouldn't wait- we should act. Standing still doesn't move us any closer to the things we want to achieve. 

So I already started. The work has already begun. Resolutions start now.

Safe Place to Land

"Did you know we only see one side of the moon?"

"Does that make it any less stunning?" she asked. 

"More," he whispered.  

-- 

It wasn't until my mid-twenties that I developed a hideous fear of flying. Up until that point I had always flown with ease. 18 hours on a plane to South Africa? No problem. Flights from east to west coast and back? Easy. 

Then something shifted. I was driven by anxiety and fear as soon as the plane moved for take-off. It was hard to breathe. My eyes teared up. Every movement of the plane left me gripped with fear.  

But I loved traveling. So I kept flying. 

I made a decision to not live a life dedicated to my fears. They are real, yes. They exist, absolutely. They make bold statements and try desperately to force my mind and heart to tend to them. But fears are not meant to be nurtured. There is no place for freedom when we cradle our fears. 

Then one day, out of the blue, I wasn't scared of flying anymore. Instead, I actually felt excited and energized when in the air. The fear I refused to give power to fell away. The beauty that I am now able to see and experience is deeper and wider and more vast than I had ever noticed before this fear existed. 

When you are dedicated to freedom rather than fear, you will always find a safe place to land.